touch

do you know the tender touch?
did you know that touch is touch
(and it feels good?)
I did not know either.
I did not know myself.
myself is not of touch;
myself, tender like a razor,
feels good.
I did not know that
neither sight nor touch
knows not one,
but all.
there is no good,
just is.
I did not know that rivers flow
uphill sometimes.
some they ripple, some decay,
in others nothing sinks.
the water, unstill, one can touch;
cannot hold.
they told me the brink of war is not of touch.
that death is not of touch.
the brink of war one cannot feel.
death, I do not feel you,
but touch, there you are.


-june 2008